


Through and Through

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angsty Schmoop, Bottom Sam, Butt Plugs, Clothed Sex, Come as Lube, Comeplay, Frottage, Implied Felching, M/M, Sibling Incest, Top Dean, Underage Sex, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was easier when Sam was younger.</p><p>(Ages unspecified, mentions of previous frottage when Sam was 13)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through and Through

This was easier when Sam was younger.

 

Well, it was sort of harder, too, not doing it but getting Dean to stop being a total spazz about it. That's how they'd figured it out in the first place, Dean and his stupid made-up rules about shit.

 

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean purrs, his head angled up against the mis-matched pillowcases. The freckles on his chest stand out against the pink flush of his skin, the fresh crop from their summer retreat to scenic-nowhere Whitefish, Montana smattered over the older ones. Sam huffs out a frustrated breath and buries his neck against the kiss-bitten crook of Dean's shoulder.

 

“Dean, I can't, c'mon, just let me touch-”

 

“Sammy,” Dean chides, shaking his head and dragging the bitten-off edge of his nails up Sam's back, which, yeah, at least that sort of helps. “I already let you cheat.”

 

Sam huffs again, out of frustration and just to feel his breath puff warm against Dean's skin, just to smell that salt-wet-kiss smell on Dean's neck. Sam's hand is starting to ache from grabbing the headboard but he needs every inch of leverage he can get.

 

“Come on, baby, I can feel how hard you are.” Dean slides his hand down, slipping it between them and dragging the heel of his palm over Sam's hard-on. The fabric's starting to chafe and Sam whines, rolling his head to the side to glare at Dean.

 

“I know it's not as good as the real thing but at least you got something in there,” Dean says, all slow with that fucking put-on drawl of his that makes every girl at the lake down the road melt out of her swimsuit. It sort of works on Sam, too, but Dean doesn't need to know that, and it's easy to act like the shivers down his spine are all from Dean trailing his fingers over the crack of Sam's ass.

 

“S'not the same,” Sam groans, hitching his hips to let his cock slide against Dean's hand. His briefs are already soaked in the front, the darkening spot of his precome mingling with Dean's own because of course _Dean_ doesn't have to keep his underwear on.

 

“Tell you what.” Dean slides his hand further down, tickling his fingers over the theadbare hole worn away somewhere over Sam's taint. Sam arches back into it, which really isn't Sam's fault because fucking Dean and his fucking hands and the fucking sex toy shoved up Sam's ass like a useless spaceholder for Dean's fucking dick.

 

“You come for me, right through your shorts like you used to?” Dean arches an eyebrow, all promise and slick-lipped intent as he threads two of his fingers through the small tear and presses them against the butt plug he'd so proudly procured on their last trip to a big city.

 

“I'll take this out,” Dean whispers, licking his lips and curling his fingers to angle the toy around and fuck, yes, fine, so it's not totally useless. Sam makes a sound he's not proud of and starts to move his hips a little faster, grinding his cock against the hot, steady pressure of Dean's hand.

 

“And I'll let you ride my cock as long as you want.” Dean hooks his fingers around the flared base and tugs, sending a shower of sparks and a deep groan shooting up Sam's skin.

 

“Let me, like you don't, fuck,” Sam huffs, curling his back as Dean sinks the ridged rubber back inside him. “Like you don't want it. Asshole.” Sam keeps his face pressed tight against Dean's neck, the tug of his lips against Dean's skin the only tell Sam gives of the surge of fondness that runs through him. Dean is such an asshole with his rules and his challenges and his endless need to be reminded that Sam wants it, wants it so fucking bad he'll hump away against Dean's bare dick just to cream himself if Dean says so. Dean with his fucking “it doesn't count if we're in our underwear” nostalgia, like it hadn't driven Sam half-crazy to have to steal what he wanted like a thief under covers. Dean who could still make Sam come in under a minute just by whispering in his ear and rubbing him through his jeans in some fluorescent nightmare of a truckstop. Dean can be such an asshole and Dean is the fucking best.

 

“'Course I want it, Sammy,” Dean smirks, all self-assurance and slow cool but Sam can hear the hammer of his heart against his chest, the way his breath catches a little when Sam gets the angle just right and grazes the crown of Dean's dick with the blunt, worn edge of his cotton-smothered hard-on.

 

“Just want to see you jizz yourself like you're 13 again,” Dean wheedles, and he says it soft, and Sam knows it still spooks him sometimes. There are times, lying in bed with sweat beaded on their foreheads and their chests heaving from finishing quick before Dad gets home, when Dean looks at him like Sam will wake up and change his mind and go back on it all. Like Sam hadn't been picking at the frayed edges of Dean's moral center since he figured out what his dick could do, like Sam hadn't spent his fourteenth birthday on his knees, first begging Dean to let him and then finally, finally sucking Dean's cock. Like anyone could know Dean and ever want anything else.

 

“That's it, Sammy, you can do it for me, let me see it,” Dean chants, his voice gruffer with each quickening pass of Sam's dick against his. Sam releases his death grip on the headboard to plant his elbows next to Dean's shoulders, bringing them closer together. Dean draws his hand back from Sam's dick and curls it right up into Sam's hair, catching it against the sweat-damp tendrils tangled at his neck.

His keeps his other hand flush against the base of Sam's plug, giving Sam something to fuck back against and this is it, Sam's got it, that tooth-clench slip and slide against Dean's body, Dean's fucking hands all over him and Dean's skin sticking to him. Sam pants through his mouth, eyes narrowing as he stares down at Dean.

 

“Yeah, that's my boy.” Dean's eyes are wide and his mouth is open and more than anything he looks captivated, like it's only Sam's weight against him that's reminding him to breathe, and more than the slick grind of their cocks together, more than the flush-full pressure of the toy in his ass or the gentle tug of Dean's hand in his hair it's this, the warm curl of Dean's rapturous attention that lets the tension in his body furl out all at once. Sam gasps and rears back just in time, muttering something wordless and warning like he needs to tell Dean what's happening, like Dean isn't already staring down at the strain of Sam's cock through his old, worn briefs as he spurts through the fabric.

 

Sam can feel himself clenching around the plug inside him, his toes curling and his head going sort of fuzzy as Dean just stares, transfixed and cursing. Sam gets two full, arching ropes of it onto Dean's stomach, and fuck Dean and his fucking rules and how he's always fucking right because fuck if that isn't the hottest fucking thing ever, the way Sam's dick twitches and jerks into the air while Dean's chest heaves beneath him.

 

“Fucking Christ, Sammy, I gotta, just, fuck.” Dean sits up suddenly, jostling Sam back and groaning as he clamps his hand around the base of his cock. Sam's head swims with the last surges of his orgasm and the joy of watching Dean come apart a little. Dean looks like he's about to blow his load and forget the English language all at once, and Sam did that, Sam made him look all desperate and flushed and dumbstruck like that.

 

“Shit, just turn around, Sammy, please, just,” Dean growls, and how Sam manages to keep his balance and swing his leg around is a mystery that Sam feels no particular urge to solve, not when Dean wriggles his fingers into the hole of Sam's briefs and draws in a ragged breath.

 

“Fuck it,” Dean mumbles, his index fingers catching at the thin fabric and pulling, and while Sam knows every one of Dean's sex-noises, the sound of Dean ripping his underwear in half because he's so desperate to fuck Sam instantly climbs to the top of the charts.

 

Dean draws the plug out with a slow groan from both of them. Sam shivers as he feels a wet trickle of lube run down after it, because Dean always, always uses so much more than Sam needs. Dean chases it back in, dragging his finger over the seam of Sam's balls.

 

“You good?”

 

Sam looks back over his shoulder, glaring at Dean and the incredibly stupid questions he asks sometimes. Sam backs up until he feels Dean's nuts jut up against his ass and Dean hisses, which is totally also on the list of best noises because Dean does it through his teeth and it just makes Sam want Dean inside him as fast as possible.

 

“Think we could get it a little wetter,” Dean husks, his voice shaky like he's clinging to his swagger with sheer willpower. Sam's neck aches as he arches back to see but God it's worth it, Sam's mouth falling open as he watches Dean scoop up the white lines of Sam's come. Dean catches his eye, and only Dean could manage to make his fucking eyelashes look cocky and arrogant and so goddamn perfect as he arches his eyebrow and spreads Sam's come over the head of his cock like made-to-order lube.

 

Sam's mixed sentiments of “I fucking hate you” and “can we just run away together and never come back” get lost in the shameless, filthy sound he makes as Dean lines his cock up and sinks in with a slick push. His fingers curl over the waistband of Sam's ruined briefs as he pulls Sam back, guiding him until Sam's fully seated and so full it's almost too much. Sam tenses, his skin going hot-cold-hot and two sizes too small all at once, his breath catching in his throat until suddenly he's past it, open and ready and flushed with warmth.

 

Dean always says he likes Sam on top because he likes the view, but Sam knows Dean wants him to lead, set the pace and take charge and it's a burden Sam is happy to bear. He cants his hips, just the smallest incline to drag Dean out and make him groan like that, and Sam doesn't need to look to know that Dean's biting his lip and digging his fingernails into his palm. Sam draws him out to the tip and sinks back and he can practically feel Dean shaking under him.

 

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean grates out in his trying-to-act-like-he's-not-close voice, one of Sam's other favorites, and Sam just plants his hand on Dean's thigh for leverage and fucking rides him because it feels good, because it sounds fucking amazing and because sometimes Dean is such an asshole and Sam learned from the best.

 

“Come on, Dean, get it,” Sam urges, arching his back to slap down wet and dirty, the intact seam of his underwear catching at the taut skin of Dean's nuts. It doesn't take long, not that Sam is keeping track for future appropriate teasing opportunities or anything, and after a few more rolls of his his hips that Dean eagerly rises up to meet, Dean comes.

 

Dean always says Sam's name when he comes. When Sam was old enough to know better, and young enough to make Dean shut himself in the bathroom and freak out afterward, he'd heard Dean, heard him whisper his name over and over while Sam lay there with the measured breaths of someone faking a snore.

 

Dean doesn't whisper any more, not when they've got the rental to themselves for three days and no neighbors in earshot. Dean digs his fingers into Sam's hip and grinds out a dozen variations on “Oh, God, Sam, fuck,” until he goes boneless under Sam and smiles so broad Sam could swear it's audible.

 

There's always this quiet lull after Dean comes, one of the few times Dean doesn't have to fill the space around them with his wise-ass jokes and perpetual mangling of classic rock. Sam breathes it in, ignoring the ache in his spread legs and the chafe of his come-wet briefs against his skin. Dean makes a displeased grunt as his cock goes soft, slipping out and leaving Sam feeling empty, wet and full of bad ideas.

 

Sam shifts his leg and feels the scratch of his ruined underwear rubbing against him, and Sam grins as wide as he can before reaching around to tug the torn shreds of his underwear back over his asshole. He can feel Dean's come leaking out of him, wet and soaking into whatever scant dry spots remain. Sam inches up Dean's chest, knee-walking backwards over his torso until he's hovering over Dean's face.

 

“Oh fuck, Sammy,” Dean mumbles, his voice thick as he runs his hands up Sam's thighs. It's not like they haven't done this before, like he hasn't watched Dean's mouth close over the spreading wetness in his shorts and suck at it with his eyes rolling back but Dean still manages to sound shocked that Sam would think of it.

 

“Come on, Dean,” Sam says sweetly, turning to smile as he lowers himself onto Dean's mouth. “I know you can do it.”


End file.
